


Porcelain

by thaumaturgicConviction



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aesthetic of written AMSR, Cults, Dress Up, Drugs, Gen, Grooming, Indoctrination to cult, Kidnapping, Light mindfuckery?, Multi, POV Second Person, Showers, sedatives, sfw, things get weird! I'm so sorry!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-26 02:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18714352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thaumaturgicConviction/pseuds/thaumaturgicConviction
Summary: It's a typical day coming home from work when you're grabbed off the street and pulled into the world of a mysterious cult. Your days have blended together in a sea of luxuries now provided to you. At this point, you're too to feel paranoid about how nice everyone's been treating you. Maybe their intentions are pure-- If that helps this situation any. Maybe a cult isn't so bad?





	Porcelain

Water patters against a tub. 

The shower’s on. You don’t remember turning it on. In fact, you can’t remember much of anything. You struggle to open your eyes, giving you sight of your body laying down in a bathtub. It's a big tub, you think you could lay down flat in here if you wanted to. A bathmat under you helps keep you sitting somewhat up here. The shower head beats down over you. It’s warm, almost hot, but it doesn’t burn. This is no tub you remember. ...Where are you?  
Trying to move your body renders useless. None of your limbs wants to cooperate with you and your eyes are drooping. It feels like your arms and legs are full of wet sand, your chest is like wire cage. Everything is more than heavy, it feels weighted down despite you clearly being completely nude. It’s frustrating but there’s nothing you can do about it right now but sigh. 

“Oh, you woke up? ...Bah, there’s no time to redose now. You’ll just have to be still and talk to me, then.”  
You hear the woman’s voice before you see her. Your head is moved to look outside the tub to the source of the voice. Short black hair with straight bangs, big brown eyes, a medical mask, rubber gloves, and some smock to cover her clothes. If her hair wasn’t down, she’d look ready for a surgery. 

You try to reply but only a struggled grunt comes out. 

“No need to fuss at me. I’m going to clean you up!” The woman enthusiastically holds up a bath caddy full of things. A second shower head turns on, pelting your body with more of the warm water. “Ugh, they didn’t even give you a pillow. You must be so uncomfortable, you poor thing.” The woman lifts your head and places a block of suction-cupped foam behind you. Gently, she sets your head down onto it. 

The water stream is interrupted by her wetting a large sponge. She pours some clear gel onto it and rubs it in to make the sponge foam up. “We start from the neck, and work to the feet. Then we deal with your face and hair, okay? I like it when people are awake for this, it makes it feel sooo much less lonely, even if you can’t reply. Maybe you can be one of the lucky few who get a few words in!” The woman laughs, placing the sponge down on your neck and starting to wash you.

“You’re really lucky we found you. You were so pitiful walking the streets… But it’s going to be better now. We’re going fix everything.”  
You close your eyes. It’s not like you were getting a great view of anything anyway. You have no idea what the lady is going on about, but maybe she'll say something to jog your memories. Warm suds start to cover more of you as the woman takes hold of your hand to lather your arm clean.  
“She only takes in the specially selected and most deserving. Your pretty face was just one part of the equation that got you here! Now, you're only going to get better. Gah, the transformations always get me excited! You know, your old wardrobe was nothing to write home about, it was a waste of your potential. I've already started planning out your new clothes. Some are on order, but I have some custom pieces in the works too! Oh, you should know that I'm the seamstress around here. I'm in charge of keeping people like you looking perfect.” 

She stops talking, humming some song while she rubs circles over your torso and back. The shower water still rhythmically hits the tub. When at your legs, she speaks again.  
“You're in paradise now. Every weight and worry of your past life is going to go down the drain as we clean you up. We're reinventing you, reforming you to live in a world of perfection. No outside filth can be carried inside these doors. It's not an easy process, but you wouldn't have been picked if you couldn't handle it. You will forget all about what society, family, friends, or whoever else wanted of you. Their expectations don't matter now. She knows the only path to happiness is to embrace the deepest parts of ourselves and bring them to the surface. Like how a doll could be anything you wish for them to be. She encourages us to think of ourselves like a child would a doll. An image of something perfect and full of potential. To deny that potential would be a waste of this life… But here? Oh, here you can reach new levels of yourself that you would never dream possible otherwise! Free of any bindings or limits from the outside world, we can become perfect. She takes care of us and we take care of each other. You've really entered something special.” 

She keeps droning on about… whatever this is. You feel like you should care more. But you're so tired. How long has it been since she came in? You tune her rambling out, focusing on your own thoughts. The steam in here isn't helping how sleepy you’re starting to feel, nor is the abundance of lavender that was surely in the soap. Part of you thinks you should care more about what she's saying and the fact you can't move. On the other hand, you don't seem hurt. That's good at least? Worrying takes up too much energy. It's a wonder you haven't totally melted down the drain.

An involuntary sound comes from the back of your throat, coaxing you to tune back into your surroundings. You peek open your eyes to see you've been sat up now, back facing the outside of the tub you're leaning against and legs splayed on either side of your body. You hear the distinctive sound of someone rubbing soap between their palms before hands grab your scalp. She starts to massage presumably the shampoo into your hair.

“You're going to be such a pretty doll…”

Your eyelids no longer can stay open.  
Like a monster of the deep to its unwitting prey, unconsciousness ever slowly begins to drag you down to sleep.  
You keep listening to the patter of the water on the tub.

**Author's Note:**

> I basically wanted to write the word equivalent of AMSR in a way. I don't actually listen to AMSR. So I guess I just wanted to write something meant to straddle the line of unsettling and comforting. I have a couple more chapters of this written that I might post, as well as a few more drabbles within the same universe I may post too. Follow for more chill cult vibes.
> 
> Please feel free to drop a comment letting me know what you think!


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